


helpless (though i'd rather not be)

by tradrishanally



Series: The United States of Chaos* (*Read: America) [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Statetalia
Genre: Blindness, F/F, Mutual Pining, Oria is not Helpless, soft lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tradrishanally/pseuds/tradrishanally
Summary: Early birthday story for US Virgin Islands."Don’t treat me like I’m a child. I’m not.” The words are powerful, demanding, laced with insecurity.





	helpless (though i'd rather not be)

**Author's Note:**

> Also, before i get asked about it. I know that the US Virgin Isles were owned by more than just the Netherlands.
> 
> Oria got to choose who she wanted to be raised by because England sucks at parenting, France doesn’t know how to deal with a blind kid at that point, Spain has 8 other kids, Denmark is an asshole in my world, Norway is slightly better, and Netherlands raised Lauren and Levi for a good 10 years to get away from Europe’s bullshit.
> 
> Oria chose Netherlands, but she takes after all of the above, (sadly she has angry brit syndrome- where she gets angry over one thing and explodes)

She can’t recognise faces so she recognises voices and hand sizes and heights compared to her from hugs. She knows the East Coast is pretty tall and the West Coast is shorter than her. She knows that the more southern states and territories are warm and the northerners are cold.

Most of the states and territories probably view her as helpless ( _she isn’t_ ) but nobody survives as long as she has and ever been helpless.

She knows it’s easier in public to say “Sorry” and try to correct her path when she walks into someone, and some are understanding. Most of the states are understanding.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

Rowan almost cried when Netherlands handed over the girl. He doesn’t remember much about the last time he’d recognised the milky hue of blind eyes, but it tore his heart in the most painful way.

Lars’s Dutch is rapid and barely coherent, but Rowan understands the gist of it (Zoë, Levi, and Nona would have understood better). The girl is blind and would require some assistance in moving in and adjusting. According to Lars, she could never see.

Rowanf asks her name.

“Oria Renee De Vries.” Her voice is strong, highly accented.

“Ik ben Rowan Jones.” The girl holds her hand out for him to shake. He takes her hand gently, as he did with almost all of his kids.

“Papa, gaat hij deel uitmaken van mijn nieuwe familie?” _Is he going to be part of my new family_?

She knew.

Lars makes a sound of agreement, a yes.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

Oria is almost completely silent through the trip. She stays in the room, reading that book of hers. Braille, Rowan has seen it, but never saw someone read it.

Rowan took a moment to take in everything about her, She’s that same type of lanky that Nona is, but she’s definitely shorter. Her skin tone mirrored his hispanic and latine states, but the difference between them and her is her hair and eyes.

Her hair more closely resembled his, a light brown.  
Her eyes stay open, unseeing.

She wasn’t helpless, and her main problems with anything were tying strings behind her and trying to find the one wrinkle that’s annoying her.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

The greatest thing about the trip was watching how she interacts with people. People assume she’s helpless and either try to take advantage of her or baby-talk her.

She’s too smart to be taken advantage of, and can feel if people are trying to take whatever they deem valuable off of her. One person kept repeatedly waving their hand in front of her face to get her attention (She shouted ‘Wow, I didn’t know people fanned others for free!” and the person ran off).

Mothers and Fathers try and baby-talk her so she just puts on a confused face and asks if they see their children because the tone is insulting. Then the parents are stunned enough that she can walk away and maybe converse with sensible people (Kids are much easier to talk to, they talk about what is being said on the radio and about what they read in their books).

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

The states take a minute to assess Oria before they overwhelm her. They speak in silence, in what she can only infer is sign language. (One of them cried, “ _no insults, Elliot_ ” and that gave it away.)

She can’t understand why they’re using it, she’s blind not deaf.

The introductions start and she hears so many names in so many voices and the introductions of 2 who cannot do such themselves. Some accents are thick, some accents are distinctly different than others, and all the accents are foreign.

She smiles and introduces herself. _She fits in_.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

Somehow, everyone has it in their heads that she’s helpless. Some of the accommodations are quite helpful: a nudge to make sure she doesn’t walk straight into the wall, a clear walkway that was probably on purpose, a constant stream of reminders of where they are.

Some of the accommodations are unnecessary: leading her to rooms that she knows where they are, speaking louder for her, helping her out with acts she has done a trillion times over.

She curses loudly in Dutch when she walks into the hutch because Delaware led her into it on accident.

Zoë tells her not to swear in front of the kids.

^v^v^v^

“Don’t treat me like I’m a child. I’m _not_.” The words are powerful, demanding, laced with insecurity.

^v^v^v^

“You’re Dutch?” Levi asks. Oria can hear the click of something metal and the tap of something hitting the table. Every so often Levi’s, or if anyone else was with them- their, elbow(s) would hit the edge of the table and he’d mutter “ _gadverdamme_ ” under his breath.

“Are there any more Dutch states or territories?” Oria asks the obvious.

“Well, Zoë and I are a given. Zoë’s New York. Nona is Dutch and Swedish and Finnish and maybe more. Noah has Dutch people, but he doesn’t take after Nederlands.”

Oria nods.

“You’re the darkest out of all of us Dutch Ones, but you’re pretty close to Zoë's skin tone. Zoë almost squealed when she saw you.”

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

Maggie offers to help her find that one godforsaken wrinkle in her dress that has been annoying her for hours.

She apologises too much just in case she’s being touchy, but Oria is trying to show her where and every place has been wrong, it doesn't help that the wrinkle is on her sides near her bust.

Oria is red with embarrassment but still uncomfortable. “Right about there, pull my skirt a bit down and the top-seam a bit up.”

Maggie does as she’s told in a few places to even out the top edge of the dress. Oria sighs in contentment. Awkward wrinkle is fixed.

Maggie realises how warm her face is, and how red it probably was. “I’m sorry if that was uncomfortable.”

Oria looks in her general direction. “It’s fine, just not used to anyone helping other than _mijn papa_.”

Maggie makes an affirmative noise and walks off.

^v^v^v^

The wrinkle comes from her bending over to get one of her books. She picks at it but can’t get the fabric to lay flat.

If only she could still wear corsets, she wouldn’t have this problem as often.

She mutters incoherent curses at the fabric when she can hear someone walk up behind her.

Before she knows it, she has a set of hands helping her find the damn wrinkle. The person’s hands are soft and gentle against her side, scoping out the problem while trying not to make anything too awkward.

It’s actually quite pleasant until she starts apologising. Maggie, if she can remember voices correctly. It becomes worse when Oria realises the main part of the wrinkle, that part that had to be corrected, was near her bust.

The bust is a no-no zone, and Oria rues her bookshelf being low to the ground for damning her to embarrassment.

Maggie’s hand grazes over the bump in the wrinkle, but on the edge. “Right about there, pull my skirt a bit down and the top-seam a bit up,” Her voice cracks as she instructs Maggie on how to fix this.

Maggie’s one hand pulls the top-seam up, and the other pulls down her skirt, wrist resting on her natural waist. Her hands are warm, soft, and smooth from what she can feel, and the touch feels so comforting. It felt natural, like hugs from Netherlands and Belgium before she got read a story.

“I’m sorry if that was uncomfortable.” The words are unexpected. Maggie’s voice is soft, hushed, and awkward. She sounds as if she was as embarrassed as Oria herself was.

“It’s fine.” Oria smiles to lessen the still air.

Maggie makes an affirmative noise before the sound of her heels clacking against the hardwood floors sounds off.

Oria wishes that she has another wrinkle in a more opportune place.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

Oria lets whoever do whatever to her face.

She doesn’t understand makeup in the slightest, doesn’t bother with it. Belgium had always told her that she has good skin and doesn’t need any powder or eye colour or anything.

Wet things being applied to her face is a foreign feeling. All the stuff the person is applying is either really wet and uncomfortable or really powdery.

She closes her eyes for most of it, trying to relax. She only opens them when asked.

The person seems to forget that she can’t see because she hands over a whatever-the-fuck-it-is and says “Tah-da!”

The silence following proves the idea that she forgot to be true.

The only good thing about it is that Maggie comes up to her later and says she looks even prettier, but she doesn’t look comfortable.

Oria makes a clueless face, why say prettier?

(She doesn’t realise that it means that Maggie already thought she was pretty.)

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

Maggie makes an effort to be closer with her. It starts with the book incident.

^v^v^v^

Maggie was making a list of every book Oria owned. The top of the list is the Bible. Pages are ripped out, tears stained the book in various placed. If Maggie could guess why, she’s think that the tearing was intentional.

Most of the braille in the books that follow are very worn. These were obviously loved and well-read. (Maggie would have to ask when they were less awkward if she could recite some of her favourite quotes.)

She puts asterisks by the books that she wants to replace with newer copies.

Sadly, she’s still in Oria’s room when Oria comes in and trips over her.

Maggie has enough sense to stand up and grab her wrist so she doesn’t go crashing.

Oria makes a noise of distress and pain and that signals Margaret to pull her up.  Margaret is frantic about making sure she was okay.

Oria is puzzled, and the harsh wrinkles dotting her face at the corners of her mouth, eyes, and eyebrows don’t suit her face or her demeanor. Maggie just takes a minute to shut up and admire how her face softens.

“Why are you in my room, Maggie?” Oria finally asks. Her voice is softer than normal.

Maggie finally realises her hands are in places where they shouldn't be, on Oria’s palm and hip.

Maggie pulls her hands to her sides. “I… I was getting laundry but i knocked off some of your books and wanted to put them back. You could’ve tripped over them.”

Oria snorts loudly. It’s adorable. “I tripped over _you_.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Maggie can see the red reaching her cheeks.

“Maggie, it’s fine. It was bound to happen eventually.”

Maggie smiles, though she knows Oria can’t see it.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

Maggie comes by on her birthday, after the “party”, and brings her a rather large and heavy box. The ordeal was solemn with only half the country still there and some of them sour for not being drafted in the war effort. (Nice job Europe, you screwed up a second time this centennial.)

Maggie is trying so hard herself to not be somber.

“Open it!” Maggie demands in the softest way possible. Her voice lilts with curiosity and something she can’t name.

It takes a minute for Oria to find the taped seam. It takes a minute longer for her to take the packaging off. The paper is just smooth, it doesn’t feel glossy or out-of-the-ordinary. She runs her fingers down the sides for an idea.

Maggie giggles. “It’s not at you, it’s just how you’re assessing what it is.”

Oria rolls her eyes in what she can only guess as plain view to Maggie.

Her fingers splay over bound paper- books, and she finds the spines. Her fingers splay over the dots detailing the titles: _Little Women_ , _Great Expectations_ , _The Great Gatsby_ , _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ , various books by various other authors.

The top 7 are books she already has.

“Maggie, I own 7 of these already. Why new ones?” Oria has no idea where she is because she isn’t wearing shoes that click on the floor.

Maggie pulls her chair next to her, and she can tell that she’s smiling.

“Well, when the old copies get too worn to read, you have a fresh copy that you can just open and reread.” Maggie taps her fingers against Oria’s temple and slowly pulls the confused girl’s head onto her shoulder. She makes sure that Oria can sit back up if she’s not comfortable. (She doesn’t move, so she hopes that she she did a good thing.)

Oria sighs in content and thanks Maggie for the gifts.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

The problem with this is that Maggie is one of the states/territories/whatever that believes that She is helpless and needs assistance. While that may be true when she’s chopping veggies, it’s not true when she is doing anything outside in places she knows.

The seeing-eye dog almost ruins everything.

^v^v^v^

“Why do you think I need a seeing-eye dog?”.Oria pets the dog’s head, her fingers resting on soft fur and smooth ears.

“You always talk about wanting to go to the city or to the beach and I know it’d be hard for you, not just because you’re blind, but because you’re going there for the first time from what i can assume.” Maggie sounds as if she practiced the second clause multiple times.

Oria huffs, and it comes out broken.

“ _I don’t want to be treated like a child_ . That’s _all_ I’ve _ever_ been treated as.” She’s crying. She can feel the cold tears running down her cheeks, hot with embarrassment. The tears sting on the warm skin.

She gets up and trips over the dog as she tries to exit.

Now everywhere hurts and the dog is whining.

^v^v^v^

She’s in the grass outside, in a significantly cooler spot. Her tears had dried, her minor wounds from the fall still stung.

Of course she’d be subjected to child treatment. She was perpetually grown up, not a 5 year old who doesn't know how to tell when someone is coming towards her or which direction the person is coming from. She can’t see, she can do everything else.

She can hear something walk up to her. The steps are light enough that she can tell it’s an animal.

The animal lays its head on her thigh, whimpering softly.

She pets it and her fingers remember the soft fur and smooth ears.

It’s the dog Maggie brought.

She sighs and leans her back against the house.

She feels the air get colder but does nothing.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

She wakes up in her room, in warm clothes that she wasn’t in last night,  with a weight of something in her hand.

Another hand.

Soft, smooth skin, warm, wet in some places- Maggie’s hand.

Oria keeps hold of it for the sheer familiarity.

Something small jumps onto her bed and circles on top of her legs 3 times before laying down, Her money’s on the answer of it’s the same dog.

She lets go so she can burrow under her covers. The tapping on the window, _rain_ , lulls her off.

(She wakes up hours later and goes to reach for Maggie’s hand but she isn’t there.)

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

She gets sick from falling asleep in the cold, apparently it had started raining while she was outside. Nona keeps her company: reads to her and lets her talk about the things that she likes,

They talk about food, the restaurant business, music, Oria’s talent on the piano and on the french horn.

It’s comfortable and familial.

It’s better than crying in front of the one person who’s ignoring you because they never got the “don’t treat me like a kid” talk and possibly ruining everything.

^v^v^v^

Maggie sits in her room when Olivia comes in. “Did you know she could play the piano and french horn?”

^v^v^v^

Oria gets better slowly.

She feels relieved when the pressure in her nose goes away and she could freely breathe.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

She’s outside, the dog lounging on her lap while she reads _Dracula_. She’s startled when a voice chimes to the left of her in an uneasy tone.

“Can I sit here?”

 _Maggie_.

Oria wants to scream in frustration and cry in happiness at the same time.

“Sure.” Oria keeps on reading, fingers splaying over the book’s pages.

Maggie sits beside her careful to not disturb the dog.

There’s a charged silence between them.

“Did he ever get a name?” Maggie asks.

The only _he_ here is the dog. Oria shakes her head no.

“Oh. Okay.” Maggie goes quiet again.

They used to be able to talk for hours. It hurts.

“Why did you think I was so helpless that I needed one?” Oria’s mouth runs before she could lead up to the question.

“I’m _sorry_ ? _Helpless_?” Maggie sounds offended before she sounds confused.

“You got me a seeing-eye dog, told me that I wouldn’t be able to go to a city. Amsterdam is a city, Zwolle is a city, Vilvoorde is a city. I used to live in all 3 of those cities.”  Oria bends over the corner of her book and shuts it.

“I…..” Maggie goes really quiet. “I didn’t know. You don’t talk about Europe.” Maggie sighs long and low.

“Well it’s over since the wars are going on. It’s over because none of you are gonna let me.”

Oria can feel her tears, she wipes them away and sniffles.

“I got you the dog so that you wouldn’t be in a place that you could be misled or taken advantage of. People here are mean and rude and narcissistic. Hell, they got to Eli once, Madalinn didn’t let him live after that. Corinne got the same thing from the Confederacy. She’s still traumatised.” Maggie’s reasons draw on and on.

Oria’s head lops itself onto Maggie’s shoulder, and she almost whimpers as she pleads, “ _Can we change the subject, please_.”

Maggie quiets immediately.

“Have you ever been not-blind?” Maggie asks.

“No.” Oria’s voice cracks.

“Oh.”

There’s a breath of silence.

“Do you want me to describe things to you?” Maggie follows up the old question.

Oria is silent while she thinks. She can already describe things in ways others can’t. She can describe Maggie’s shoulder as bony and warm, comfortable where her head is, uncomfortable where her neck sits.

“Maybe later.”

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

“Can you play something on the piano for me?” Maggie asks out of the blue,

Oria jumps. Maggie was oddly quiet when she walked in non-heeled shoes.

“I know a few songs. Nothing much.” Oria says before drifting to the other side of the room, to the piano.

She runs her fingers to count to the desired number before sitting down.

Maggie listens eagerly.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

Oria has a nightmare, the sound of boats crashing, the cold sea, the cold hands pulling her up before she inhaled the water.

Maggie’s room is across from hers. She treads carefully, making her way to the bed.

Maggie rouses as she’s about to gently tap on her arm.

“Oria? It’s 2 am?” Her tone is tired, her accent thicker in her sleepy state.

Maggie’s quiet for a minute.

“Are you okay? You’re shaking.” Maggie scoots over and gently guides Oria to a place for her to sit. The bed is warm, the sheets smooth and well-worn in.

“Can I stay in here?” Oria asks.

Maggie inhales sharply. “Of course.”

^v^v^v^

Oria has never felt safer waking up than when she woke up with Maggie’s arm over her torso and her face buried in Maggie’s neck.

^v^v^v^^v^v^v^

“ _I love you_.”

The words come out of nowhere. Maggie’s with her on the porch as the thunderstorm resounds with deafening blasts of thunder and the torrents of rain hit the roofing,

Oria says it first, and she doesn’t register that she said the words for a minute.

Maggie takes 3 steps towards her, Rattle (who had finally been named by Maggie after a whole 3 months) trotting by her side.

Oria can barely feel the kiss on her cheek. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous comments disabled to prevent anonymous hellraising.


End file.
